


Faded Memories

by Nicholas_Lucien



Category: Forever Knight
Genre: Art, M/M, Painting, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 22:27:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7333156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicholas_Lucien/pseuds/Nicholas_Lucien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an extreme situation, how far would LaCroix go to keep Nicholas safely by his side?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this was based on an old idea: does the end justify the means to achieve it. If pushed, what would you actively do, tolerate, or allow to happen to get a particular result? And can what appears to be a bad, manipulative, absolutely selfish action actually be the best choice given your options? Also some hope. Or not; you are free to interpret as you see fit!
> 
> Paintings described are all original works.
> 
> I do not own these characters and is not intended to infringe upon any copyright owners. No profit is being made from this work.

_“Dreams full of promises, hopes for the future, I’ve had many._

_Dreams I can’t remember now, hopes that I’ve forgotten, [they’ve become] faded memories.”_

_– John Denver, modified_

 

Nick woke just in time to watch the faint tinge of sunlight through the side of the curtains fade to darkness. He was in bed, well, Lucien’s bed actually, and he stretched when the light finally disappeared. He felt stronger when the sun was down. It made sense, he knew; he was a vampire after all, and darkness and blood was what his body had to have. He also felt uneasy, but he attributed that to the fact that his art show was to open in less than four days and he still had not finished the signature piece of the collection. Ron, the gallery curator, had been very delicately pestering him for the final piece for a few weeks now. Nick had gotten very agitated and all work had actually stopped until Lucien had intervened and Ron had backed off. “ _Artists and their vision_ ,” Lucien had said. “ _Make Nicholas hurry and you might get a blank canvas for your trouble. Let Nicholas have his time. It will be ready for the show_.” Nick smiled – he knew he would give Ron something amazing, but he had to finish it first.

Nick rolled over to see if Lucien was awake yet. His guardian, benefactor, and lover, was still peacefully asleep. Nick knew he would be up soon, for, like himself, Lucien was a vampire and would rise with the night. Nick leaned over and kissed him, first on the lips, then the jaw, then lower down at the base of his neck. The older man smiled.

“Time to wake already?” Lucien reached out for Nicholas, but Nicholas, grinning, moved playfully away to be just beyond his reach.

“Unfortunately. You have that appointment at the art gallery you insisted upon having, and I have to finish the last canvas and have it moved over and installed tomorrow before Ron gets so twitchy he comes over here to collect it himself, finished or not.”

Lucien slid his naked body along the bed surface to get closer to Nicholas and was finally successful in capturing the younger man’s wrist; Nicholas made no move to escape. Lucien turned the seized hand supine and lightly stroked Nicholas’ exposed wrist repeatedly. Lucien watched for a reaction and was pleased when Nicholas’ eyes slowly closed in pleasure. Finally, Lucien let his fingers caress along the palm, following the crease lines that curved around the thumb. “I can think of something quick and enjoyable we could do before all that. Nothing too demanding, I assure you.”

Nick barely opened his eyes, absent-mindedly staring at the strong hand that had ensnared him. “Yes, our little playtime last night just wasn’t enough. You know I would have done more if you had asked.”

“You know why we had to stop well before we both were satiated. You were too emotional; I didn’t want to chance pushing you too far.”

Nick became instantly sober. Yes, he thought. He tended to become more sensitive when a canvas wasn’t coming together like he wanted. Feelings of frustration moved to insecurity in his ability, leading ultimately to feelings of worthlessness. And that awoke his stronger, darker fears of pain, abandonment, and loss that had occurred five years ago. Five years. Back then he had been beaten and left barely alive in an alley, without any memories of himself or how he had gotten there. If Lucien had not found him, taken him in, and nursed him back to health, he would have died. He didn’t even know he was a vampire until Lucien had explained it to him; he didn’t even have a name until Lucien picked it for him. He owed everything to the older man whom he had immediately fallen in love with. He shook his head to stop thinking about his painful past. “It might not have progressed to that.”

“Extremely intense emotions are a trigger for you; it causes those painful memories to surface and that devastates you. I don’t want you to risk that, not with your opening so close. You remember the last time that happened.” Lucien's voice became more firm. “You were extremely disoriented. You couldn’t paint for a month; you just retreated away. I thought I was going to lose you; I don’t want you to be like that.”

Nick leaned back, breaking his contact with Lucien. “You didn’t lose me. I didn’t go anywhere. I wasn’t roaming the streets; I stayed here, with you.”

“You spent your time curled up in a dark room, screaming. I had to force you to eat and inject you with a sedative so you could sleep. You were traumatized, just like when I rescued you; you remember what that time was like. Do you want to go through that again?” Lucien slowly closed his eyes in pain after he realized what he just said.

Nick looked at the wall, trying very hard to remain calm even though the raw emotions were roiling within him. “I thought we weren’t going to bring that up anymore.”

“Nicholas . . .”

“You know how I feel about that. Don’t use those times against me when we disagree.”

“I never meant . . .”

“I’m going downstairs.” Nick got out of bed and went to the door. He didn’t need to turn on the light, he knew his way around Lucien’s room as well as his own. When he walked through the doorway, he made sure not to slam the door; he knew Lucien would get irritated at that, and he didn’t really want to irritate the older man. Nick when to his room, put on some clothes, and went down to his studio, preparing to try and finish that last canvas and hoping the act of painting would calm him down.

“Damn.” Lucien heard Nicholas go to the studio, which was on the first floor and at street level with windows so passers-by could view a covered canvas, getting them excited to go to the art gallery and see it finally revealed. Lucien let his head fall back, staring at the ceiling. “Damn.” Nicholas might not finish that canvas tonight and he had to meet with Ron soon about the show’s progress toward opening night. He had promised himself he wouldn’t add to Nicholas’ stress – the show would do that well enough and an over-stressed Nicholas was one who would crack. He had spent so much time and effort keeping Nicholas safe and building Nicholas’ trust in him, and it always seemed that it could all be undone in a few moments of bad word choices. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Damn.”


	2. Chapter 2

Nicholas was in the studio mixing paint when Lucien found him later. “Nicholas . . .”

“It's fine, Lucien.”

“No, I am . . .”

Nick stopped his mixing, put down the paint on the bench, and came over to Lucien, hugging him, careful to not get any paint on the clothes. “It's fine, Lucien. I over-reacted. I know you just want me to be okay, and I’m just stressed over this last piece. I didn’t have to take it out on you. You didn’t really mean it like that.”

Lucien disentangled himself, took a step back, and looked at Nicholas, looking for the tale-tell signs of mental snapping he knew could happen. Nicholas seemed alright, for now. He smiled, opened his arms, beckoning Nicholas to come to him again. Nicholas immediately did. “I overstepped, Nicholas, and I am sorry.” He stroked Nicholas’ cheek and the younger man closed his eyes, leaning into the caress. “Nicholas, I know you are strong, but you are so fragile as well. I couldn’t stand for you to break apart. I couldn’t stand to lose you, my love.” He placed his hands gently on Nicholas’ head, running his fingers through the dark blond hair. “I am only going to meet with Ron and then I am coming right back here. Call me if you need me sooner.”

Nick took a step back, sighed, and gave a lop-sided grin, looking up at Lucien. “You’re just a few blocks down the street.”

Lucien lowered his arms to his sides. “Still. Call me if there is a problem.”

“Okay.” It was the same ritual every time Lucien left him alone. He knew he would never call. Nick didn’t even think he knew Lucien’s number; it was probably on speed-dial somewhere. Lucien never left him unaccompanied for very long anyway. Nothing ever happened on the rare occasions he was left alone.

“One hour, maximum, then I will be back. Will your work be done by then?”

Nick shook his head. “Probably not.” He took Lucien by the hand and guided him over to the giant canvas, which was painted randomly in varying shades of pale yellow. He heaved a sigh. “Look at it.”

Lucien stared at the canvas, remembering to reveal no emotion. Nicholas could be very sensitive to any perceived criticism, especially on a work-in-progress. The painting was not really remarkable, just yellow. But then, he didn’t really understand this new abstract art, personally preferring classical painting and sculpture to this. Still, his Nicholas had made it, so it was special, in its own unique way. “It looks fine, Nicholas. Looks finished, actually.”

Nick was shocked. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s yellow, that’s something.”

“The whole collection is supposed to represent the conflicted state of Man. This one is his struggle between himself and other people’s desires and trying to find harmony and balance.” Nick threw his hands up in the air above his head, then brought them down to shake them at the canvas, as if to demand an explanation from the canvas itself as to why it could not show what he wanted. “Struggle is not yellow.”

Lucien smiled. Artists. “No, you’re right. Struggle is not yellow. Red would be more appropriate.”

Nick put his hands in his pants pockets. “That’s death.” Nick was very serious – he studiously avoided painting in red, especially the darker brick red colors. It reminded him of the alley and the brick buildings that surrounded him. No, the canvas did not need any red.

Lucien rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, shaking his head. “Then paint it another color. Honestly, Nicholas, I adore you, but most people are not going to understand this abstract work anyway. They will pretend, then buy a piece to show their sophistication, and ask you when your next collection will be completed. Just use another color. Any color.”

Nick smirked. “Like green?”

Lucien grinned at the recent memory. “Well, I know why I would like green. And green would remind the customers to take out their money. Ron would like that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Speaking of Ron, you better be off. It’s getting late and you know he wants to get this done. He has a lot to coordinate and less than a week to do it all.”

A parting kiss at the door sent Lucien on his way and Nick back to the studio. “Green? Maybe.” He began to look for his last tube of green paint. The open one he had been working with had gotten smashed when he and Lucien began last night’s passion in the studio. In hindsight, it was not the best place to start that activity; their clothes had gotten all splattered and not likely to come clean. A knock on the front door interrupted his reminiscing and his hunt to find that tube. Nick grabbed a towel to wipe his hands as he went to answer the summons.

Opening the front door he found an unfamiliar woman on the short outside stairs. “May I help you?”

The woman looked at the man who had opened the door. “I have been looking for you.” She held up an old clipping from a paper, which showed him next to some of the finished and installed paintings at the gallery from two shows ago.

Nick held up his hands, placating. He had dealt with this before. “I am sorry, no, the show is not here; it’s at the gallery down the street. My current one opens next week and I will be there to answer any questions about the style and techniques used. I don’t show the completed collections here.”

She shook her head, worried he was treating her like a stranger. “I came to see you, not your paintings, nor your upcoming show. And I actually preferred your earlier work to this abstract dribble, so I really have no interest in going to the show. I have seen you do better.”

Nick felt greatly insulted but tried to curb that feeling of defending his works, his creations, to this woman. His paintings were an expression of himself, but not everyone understood it, and he was fine with that, but the art did not need to be trivialized. In any event, he definitely wasn’t going to let her in now. He was about to say goodbye and close the door when he saw her pull an old folded high-gloss color picture out of her pocket.

“This is my favorite painting of yours.” She showed the picture of a painting featuring a beautiful raven-haired woman in a black dress on the verge of smiling.

Nick frowned slightly. “That is a very lovely painting, and I do like the use of color, but I am sorry – I did not paint that.”

“Yes, you did.” And she opened the picture completely to show a man standing by the painting, looking modest, like he didn’t really want to have his picture taken at all. She looked directly into his eyes. “See?”

It felt like a weight was sinking him down, but at the same time felt that he was tilting to the side. Of course he recognized the man in the picture – it was him. Nick looked at the women, whom he had to admit looked exactly like the woman in the painting. “You know me?”

“Yes, I know you. Now, are you going to let me in?”

Nick sluggishly moved aside so she could enter, but he could not think of anything else to ask her. He remembered the last five years perfectly, and he did not remember her at all. If that picture was true, then she knew him from before. Before the loss. Before the alley. He turned to face her. “Who are you?”

The woman had the saddest smile on her face. She could tell already this was going to be more difficult than she had originally thought. She was going to have to be very careful. “Oh, Nicolas, I am Janette.”


	3. Chapter 3

Janette had sat down in the nearest chair without asking, and a few moments after, Nick sat down opposite her. All he could do was stare at her, trying to get his brain to recall her, but knowing it was pointless – there were no memories to find. Belatedly, he remembered his manners. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Whatever you are having tonight will be fine.”

Nick hesitated. He drank blood, the blood Lucien picked up and stocked in the kitchen. He knew blood was usually not what most people thought of when they wanted a drink. “Well, Lucien, my manager, has me on this really strict liquid diet . . .”

“Human blood, yes, I know LaCroix would insist on you drinking properly. You smell more human, which is better than the animal you used to reek of.” He looked shocked, which did not surprise her, considering he didn’t know who she was. She knew something had to have been wrong with Nicolas but was not prepared for this. “Nicolas, you know I am a vampire like you.”

“I am just shocked you know. How did you know? And you know Lucien?”

“Yes, LaCroix and I have crossed paths in the past. Didn’t he tell you? You should be able to sense your own kind. Can’t you sense me, feel a connection? Can’t you tell I am a vampire as well?”

Nick was amazed. He had only ever met a couple other vampires, and always with Lucien near, protecting and shielding him. To have a beautiful vampire alone with him was a rare opportunity he doubted would come again. He smiled as he looked at her, looking for the physical signs of the blood-lust, the strength, the paleness that results from never being touched by sunlight. “Lucien says that in time I will be able to tell that, and more, from the others around me.” He shrugged. “But he says I am too young to be able to do that right now.”

Janette was confused. “What are you talking about, Nicolas? How old do you think you are?”

“I’m only five years old.” He watched as she gasped, putting her hand over her mouth. So controlled in her movements; not like a trained player on a stage, but a calculating restraint of power. He guessed she was probably as old as Lucien. He wondered what she really wanted.

It began to dawn on her the full extent of the situation. The reason Nicolas never came back, never contacted her – he didn’t remember anything. He was being manipulated on a scale she had not seen LaCroix do before: her maker was starting over with Nicolas. She was going to have to tread very carefully. “Nicolas, you are older than five years.”

“Well, yes, there is also the mortal years, I am obviously not a toddler. But, I have only been a vampire for five years now. That picture is older than five years – did you know me as a mortal?”

The turmoil and rage in Janette swelled. She got out of the chair and walked away from Nicolas, trying to control herself. She didn’t want him to think this fury was directed at him; he was always so sensitive.

Nick watched her walk away. He knew he had said something to upset her. He stood up. “I’m sorry. Please, don’t leave. I just wanted to understand, and to talk to someone. I never get to talk to anyone alone like this.”

“Oh, Nicolas, I wish I had come sooner. I thought you had simply escaped and decided to move on and become a painter when I finally saw your picture in the paper. I had no idea this was going on.”

Nick gave a worried frown. “Escape? Move on? What are you talking about?”

She sat back down and watched as he also immediately sat back down again, adopting the same slightly forward posture she had assumed. She shook her head; one way to build trust and empathy with someone was to mirror their movements and actions. Nicolas was trying to ingratiate himself to her, to keep her there. Seriously she asked, “How did this happen? How is it you are here, with LaCroix, and believe you are only a fledgling?”

“It’s not something I generally talk about.” But he felt himself weakening. To meet someone who knew him from before, could tell him something about what had happened. But if she knew him, she would want to know, should be told, about what had happened during the time after that picture of hers.

“Please, Nicolas,” she placed her hand upon his hands, “I need to know everything.” She was glad now that she had decided to visit when LaCroix was not around, though there were risks. She needed answers.

Nick looked at his hands; she held them, and though his hands were trembling a bit, hers were shaking more. “No.” To tell the whole story he would have to re-live what he tried so hard to forget. But there was just something about her; his resolve was beginning to crumble.

“Nicolas, I need to know why you left me and didn’t contact me.”

Nick drew a deeply rattled breath. “Then you really did know me before all this.”

“Yes; please, what happened to you? What did LaCroix do to you? How could he do this to you? How could lie to you like this?”

“Lucien?” Nick gave a short laugh; his strength was gone. So much for inner control. He needed someone who might be able to help him understand it all. Plus, he felt like he had to defend Lucien to this woman, this Janette who thought his lover would actually hurt him. Lucien was not like that. “Lucien didn’t do anything to me.”

“Something happened, Nicolas. Please, tell me.”

Nick got out of his chair to pace away from this woman. He stared at the wall rather than look at her. “Lucien found me. He rescued me.” Nick took a few breaths. “I was dying in some dark, lonely alley that people just passed by without caring there was someone in there. Then he came. He cared. He nursed me; taught me I was a vampire.” Nick turned to look at her. “Lucien said that what I went through happens sometimes – a vampire tries to bring a mortal across but the process is flawed. The fledgling is weak, or mad, or mindless, or the maker doesn’t forge the mental connection to his creation, so abandons them.” Nick pointed to himself, jabbing a finger into his chest. “I was abandoned. Without even being fed I was beaten and left to die – a mistake that my maker wanted to be rid of. But I wasn’t dead, and no sunlight entered that alley so I would never have been burned. Instead, I lingered, too weak to kill myself, and not strong enough to do anything about it. I didn’t remember anything from before, not my maker nor why he left me.” Nick returned to the seat beside Janette. “I have tried so hard to forget that time. The few days I spent in that alley seemed like an eternity.” He dropped his gaze from her eyes.

Janette was too stunned to respond, to think such lies were part of Nicolas’ memories. That he believed this. This was an abomination. And that there was more, she could tell his story wasn’t finished yet.

Nick was silent; he couldn’t hold back anymore the flow of memories and sensations. He closed his eyes in a vain attempt to stop the emotions from completely surfacing. He remembered that night, his final night in the alley. That night he found a bit of sidewalk chalk some child had thrown away and he had lain near the opening of that small little alley, mindlessly drawing on the concrete the faces of the people who passed, never looking at what he drew, but just drawing. It kept him focused, so he wasn’t lost in the blank void of his mind that was trying to pull him away. He wanted the final release of death, not unending conscious nothingness. Then a shadow blocked the light from the street and he couldn’t see the people anymore. He was overjoyed, he thought death was finally coming for him. The shadow had bent over and the darkness wrapped itself around him and he had blacked out.

He looked at Janette again. “I wanted to die. Instead, I awoke in Lucien’s apartment. He fed me his blood, helped me get strong. When I raged because of what had happened, or because I had no memories, he calmed me. He taught me what I was and agreed to take me, to guard me. He encouraged me to draw and paint. We got this place together with a studio where I could work. He was good to me. He still is.”

Janette listened to all of this. Watched when Nick was silent, and when there was so much feeling in his rough voice that it brought tears to her eyes. “No Nicolas, LaCroix has been cruel to you. He has lied to you, and you don’t even realize it.”

The tips of Nick’s fangs dropped slightly. “You don’t know him if you think that.”

Janette matched his rise in anger with her own, and her eyes became flecked with red. “Yes, I do. LaCroix made me just like he made you. And I have had centuries to watch the cold heartless schemes he puts into motion.”

Nick was taken aback. The shock of what she said stilled him, and he attempted to deny it. “No. Lucien did not make me. He rescued me.”

“Nicolas, you are almost eight hundred years old. Yes, I knew you as a mortal, I brought you to him and his blood made you. He brought you across. He is your maker, and he did not make you in a brick alley.”

In a quick motion, Nick was out of the chair and somewhat behind it, using it as a barrier between him and this woman who challenged his understanding of himself and his relationship to Lucien. He shook his head. “That’s not possible.”

Janette was sitting but then moved. She was now in the small space between Nicolas and the chair.

Nick moved away, surprised by how fast she had relocated; he had only ever seen Lucien move that quickly.

“Listen to me, Nicolas; listen to what happened. A little over five years ago you were abducted. We all looked for you – the police, Schanke, LaCroix, and Natalie. We tried everything but there was no word from you or from your abductors. Two weeks after your disappearance, LaCroix left Toronto saying he was going to ask some older vampires to help in locating you. No one could find you, no one could feel you. We were all worried.” She walked towards him. “Then LaCroix disappeared as well. I could not find him; my connection to him was silent.”

Nick began to shudder. He moved further back. “No.”

“And now I have finally found you and you tell me LaCroix has been with you for all these years. I came here thinking, like me, he just recently found you. Now I come to see you and you have no idea who you are and LaCroix has been encouraging this because it appears he has not told you the truth. What has been going on here? Why can’t you remember?”

Nick backed further away, away from the red-eyed woman.

“Think, Nicolas; please remember, just a little bit. You tell me LaCroix has helped you but everything you described would be to isolate you and keep you contained, controlled.” She moved slowly toward him. She knew Nicolas was strong and would fight back against any type of control, unless he was being kept deliberately debilitated. “He’s drugged you with curare, hasn’t he? More than once?” She saw him wince. She nodded her head, and kept up her questions, hoping one of them would crack through so Nicolas could begin to free himself. “He is influencing you via his mental bond with you, isn’t he?”

“Lucien wouldn’t control me like that.”

Janette heard the tenderness in that statement. “You two are lovers again, aren’t you? Nicolas, he is using sex and his blood to keep you submissive and bound to him, dependent upon him.”

Nick backed up some more and felt the jarring thud as his back collided with the wall. No more room to retreat. He let his fangs fully descend and lock in place, baring them to her. She had crossed a very personal line. “You need to leave.”

Janette opened her mouth to show her fangs were already out. “He has always had a fondness where you are concerned. His love, Nicolas, comes with strings attached, and I hate to see you tied up in them again. It has happened before. It seems like it is happening now.”

Nick growled. “Get out, before I throw you out.”

“You cannot man-handle me, Nicolas. I am older, faster, and stronger than you are. But I will leave with this parting thought: LaCroix appears to be making sure you do not know yourself, to know how independent you can be. He is always afraid you will leave him. Though this farce of a life seems a bit extreme just to keep you by his side this time.” She stopped talking; she didn’t want to push him too far. Nicolas was deadly when pushed too far; she had no intention of facing his fury. Plus, if her theory was correct, LaCroix would not be pleased to see her. It was time to leave and think about what she could do to help free Nicolas.

Nick’s growing wrath was too much, his vision turned red as his eyes changed color, and he rushed at her. But true to her word, she was faster. He heard the door click and knew she was gone. Nick dropped to his knees and let out a howl of fury, though he didn’t know whether he was angry at her, what she had said, or Lucien’s betrayal if what she said was actually true. When he was finished, he felt his calm return. Nick looked at where she had been sitting. The glossy picture was still there. He reached over to grab it up and put it in his pocket. Whatever had actually happened, Lucien had still taken care of him. Nick owed his lover loyalty, at the very least, and the opportunity to explain to him what was going on. He went over to his studio to wait for Lucien to return and to decide which questions to ask first. In the meantime he would release his emotions out onto his canvas, deciding to no longer paint about Man’s conflict, but something more personal. He picked up some black paint and applied it to the canvas. But the longer he painted, the more betrayed he felt. He released a primordial roar; perhaps it was past the time for calm explanations.


	4. Chapter 4

The house was dark and quiet when Lucien arrived after his meeting. It had taken much longer than the one hour he had allocated before all was resolved with Ron and he could come back home. Lucien paused; it was too quiet. He had a bad feeling. He had felt during his meeting with Ron something through his mental connection, a strange spike in emotion from Nicholas, but it had immediately disappeared. He had thought it was just a jolt of stress about finishing the canvas, but now he was not as sure. “Nicholas, where are you? Are you alright?” He turned on the light into the living space. No Nicholas. He went quietly up to the bedrooms, thinking maybe Nicholas was managing to get some sleep. But both rooms were empty as well.

He reached out through his mental connection to locate his missing painter. The studio. Lucien flew down and stood in the doorway to the work studio. The lights were off. But he definitely felt Nicholas inside, emotions flickering like a faint candle flame. He stepped through the door, flipping the light switch. In the harsh light he saw that the benches were cleaned, paint put away, and the brushes drying with their wooden handles in jars and the bristles pointed upward. Normally such cleanliness was reassuring, but not now. Now it seemed ominous. “Nicholas, I know you are in here. I can feel you. Why are you hiding?” No response. Lucien turned and saw the canvas Nicholas had been working on. Now it was covered with a clean cloth. Lucien walked over to it. So the painting was finally finished. He smiled. “Nicholas, you do not have to hide to wait and see my reaction to your painting.” Nicholas could be dramatically sensitive sometimes. He pulled off the cloth and let it fall to the floor. Lucien stared at the painted canvas. He let out a sigh. This was beautiful.

Nick appeared next to Lucien. “I hope you like it.”

“Nicholas, this is . . . I have no words for this.” Lucien had never seen such abstraction radiate such emotion. The painting still had its watery yellow from before, but now shades of dark gray and black shared the image on the left, reaching over to the yellow right side. At the top of the painting, the dark color made a soft, tender, spiraling encroachment into the yellow, meeting about a third of the way across the canvas. But as Lucien looked down the painting, the black moved over more, meeting the yellow further and further to the right. The invasion of the black color became more forceful, eventually looking more like daggers cutting into the yellow portion. Gone was the initial gentleness at the top, by the bottom of the painting it was a violent clash of aggression as if the darker paint had a will and was forcing itself into the softer, lighter color that couldn’t fight back. “This is love turned to cruelty. It seems that the yellow initially thought it could hesitatively merge with the black, but by the end, it found out it could not. It might not even survive the merging.” This painting was more moving than he had seen Nicholas make in a long time. He might even purchase it himself just to keep it in the house. “This is beautiful. This is what you express Man’s balance of desires to be?”

“No, LaCroix, this is a betrayal.” Then he growled, low and long. “You betrayed me.”

Lucien felt the hatred through his mental connection before he heard that same emotion in Nicholas’ voice. He turned to see red eyes gazing at him. Immediately, reflexively, he crouched into a better fighting stance. When Nicholas hurled himself into Lucien, he was ready for the impact. Grabbing Nicholas, he pivoted and pushed the smaller man to the ground, trying to pin him down. “Nicholas, what is going on?” Lucien was concerned that the vampire was breaking out. He knew what happened after that – memories surfaced. Dangerous memories that would undo everything he had created with Nicholas. He had to stop that from happening. “Calm down!”

Nick was trying to get his arms under himself, so he could push off the floor. Lucien’s cry for him to calm down sent a new wave of anger through him, enraging the vampire more. How many times in the past had Lucien calmed him? Were all those times just an excuse to control? “No, LaCroix.” He struggled some more.

“Nicholas, don’t try it. You’re going to hurt yourself.” He felt Nicholas writhe under him, trying to get leverage. He pushed down harder.

Nick finally managed to slide his arms under his chest. There was not much room, especially since Lucien was pushing him down more, but with his arms tucked under he could push up. But before he could, Lucien had lifted him up slightly and wrapped stronger arms around him, binding him. Nick couldn’t move. So he did the next best thing. He wondered briefly if Lucien knew he could fly. He willed himself to rise and smashed Lucien against the ceiling. The first time did nothing, so Nick dropped down and rose again, faster. That impact jarred Lucien loose and Nick escaped, returning to the floor in a crouch. He watched Lucien twist gracefully in mid-air to also land in a similar crouch about four feet in front of him. Nick bared his fangs and snarled. “Is it true? Are you controlling me, making me forget my life?”

Lucien stared at Nicholas. How had he figured that out? Had the mental barriers suppressing Nicholas’ memories begun to crumble? “Nicholas, it is a little more complicated than that.”

“As complicated as you being my maker? Were you the one that brought me across?”

Lucien hesitated. He couldn’t lie to his son about that, not when directly asked. “Yes.”

“And my memories?”

“Suppressed.” Lucien crept forward to reduce the distance between them; he would only have a small opening to grab Nicholas without missing.

Nick retreated backward, growling. “The alley where you found me, was that even real?”

“No, Nicholas, it wasn’t.” He expected Nicholas to come rushing at him, but instead he watched Nicholas sit on the floor. When Nicholas looked up, he seemed so lost, his red eyes morphing back to blue.

“Do you even really love me? Do I really love you, or was it all just a way to manipulate me?”

Lucien felt such sorrow, that his lover, his creation, was in so much pain. “Nicholas, listen to me, you cannot imitate the type of love we have. It has to exist within you already. I just helped it out and we both encouraged it to grow.” He cautiously inched over to Nicholas, finally enveloping the smaller man in his arms, stroking his head. “Never doubt this: you are my complement, my balance, and everything I have done has been because of that. You are my passion, Nicholas; I don’t want anyone else.”

Nick was crying. It felt so good to be surrounded, curled into Lucien’s durable embrace. But then there was still the matter about being lied to. “Then why the lies? Why not tell me? Why are you doing all of this to me?”

Lucien continued to stroke Nicholas’ head. “I told you, Nicholas, I can’t live without you. I love you, and sometimes to keep something with you, you have to break it.” He pushed Nicholas’ head to one side, exposing the neck. As Lucien sank his fangs and drew blood, he entered Nicholas’s mind, the connection made stronger now that blood was involved. He felt Nicholas shudder but continued. He had to find the memory break, repair it, and suppress what was going on right now. The longer this continued, the harder it would be to contain it all. Nicholas tried to fight, tried to push back, but Lucien was stronger.

Nick felt it, in his mind, felt pieces just slip away. How was this supposed to be love? It felt like he was dying. He gathered himself together, then let the vampire out completely.

Lucien sensed the strong push against his body as well as in the mind. An unstoppable force trying itself against an immovable object. Lucien let go. He didn’t want to destroy Nicholas.

Nick ran over to the bench to get away from Lucien. All the vampire wanted was to survive. Sometimes survival meant death. He grabbed one of the larger paintbrushes.

“Nicholas, please, you have to trust me. I am doing this for you.”

“You don’t want me to leave you.”

“No, I don’t. I need you to stay here with me. I can’t let you be on your own. I need you to trust me, to remember that I have protected you and I will still protect you, but you have to let me in so I can finish.”

Nick gripped the paintbrush harder. “I’m not letting you in anymore! Don’t come any closer to me.”

“What are you going to do, Nicholas? Those nylon bristles will not protect you.” Lucien advanced.

Nick roared and dove straight at Lucien, knocking him to the floor. He flipped the paintbrush over, bristles now in his fist. “Wooden handle.” He drove the wood deep into Lucien’s chest. Ripping the improvised stake out, he drove it in again. Blood had sputtered out, coating his hand and the paintbrush. Lucien shuddered, then was still. Nick got up, dizzy with what had happened and the pounding in his head. The paintbrush was still in his hand. He dropped it to the floor. Staggering away from the body, Nick bumped into the canvas and it almost fell over. Instinctually he reached to stop its fall, his one bloody hand leaving a smear of red along the bottom of the painting where the black and yellow colors met. He righted it back on the easel. He looked at his hand, covered in red. A dark brick red. He closed his eyes; the memories were returning. He dropped to the floor, prone. The alley. The wish for death to end his suffering. The realization that even fake memories hurt. He groaned in pain as he felt his mind crack apart. New memories rushed past him, too confusing and disjointed to make sense of, they flipped past like old worn-out torn photographs. His lost memories. Fierce hands grabbed him, turning him completely over so his back was pressed against the floor. Nick opened his eyes. There was Lucien, bloody, staring back at him.

“Nicholas, you really need to work on your technique.” With a loud hiss, he grabbed Nicholas and bit him again. Tolerating no mental resistance, he entered again and began to patch the memory break, not bothering to concentrate on any closely, just pushing back everything older than five years and everything from today. Dwelling on any one memory reinforced, it, and could trigger its return; Lucien didn’t want that to happen. He abruptly stopped when he heard a noise on the roof, felt just a hint of a vibration. Listening intently, he tried to pick up any other sensations. Nothing. Quickly he went back to his modifications and Nicholas’ memories faded away again. He hoped the barriers would hold; each time he did this was becoming harder than the last. Once done, he gently slipped his fangs out and looked down. Nicholas’ wet eyes were open but blankly staring at the ceiling. He waved his hand before the eyes, but there was no response. Lucien lowered Nicholas’ eyelids and wiped the tears away with his fingers. “I am sorry it has to be this way, Nicholas. There isn’t any other choice for me.” Gathering up the limp man, Lucien took Nicholas upstairs, stripped him, cleaned him, and put him to bed. Going back to pick up the clothes, he checked the pockets before tossing them into the hamper. He found a folded photograph with Nicholas in the image. He opened the photo completely and saw the painting. Lucien let out a rumble of dissatisfaction. So this was the cause of tonight’s break. Janette was here. He went down to the kitchen and turned on the gas burner and lit the picture on fire.

Nick woke the next night, screaming. Cool hands touched him, held him until the last of the dream was over. He opened his eyes. “It was the dream again. Brick walls rising up around me. I was trapped.”

“It was just a dream, Nicholas. Everything is alright. Just stay calm. The dream is over now.” Lucien held him until Nicholas finally wiggled to get free.

“I’m fine now. You have to get ready for you meeting with Ron.”

Lucien was silent.

“What?”

“That was yesterday, Nicholas.”

Panic. “It happened again? I disconnected?”

That was one way to describe what had happened, Lucien thought. “Yes, Nicholas, but it was short this time. You made it through with minimal problems.”

“That’s good, I guess.” Nick sat up. “The painting! Ron wants it tonight. I have to finish it.”

“You did finish it, Nicholas.”

“Truly?” Nick got out of bed. “I want to see it.”

“Better put on some clothes first, the curtains in your studio are open.”

Lucien met Nicholas a few minutes later in the studio, the curtains now pulled closed. Nicholas was simply staring at the painting. He stopped right next to Nicholas, arms touching, and he twined his fingers into Nicholas’. “It’s really quite good. Provocative. I rather like it.”

Nick shook his head. “I don’t remember this at all. Why the black and this smear of red? This all seems more like an invasion than a balance.”

“I suppose it is simply your point of view. You changed your title for the painting, incidentally.”

“Really? What did I change it to?”

“It’s your work, Nicholas, a part of you. What part of you is this?”

Nick looked thoughtfully at it. It really evoked an emotional reaction, more so than the others paintings in this collection. “I suppose it speaks of a lover’s betrayal. Odd choice for me to paint. Kind of dark, actually.”

“Well, sometimes what you start with morphs into something else as you work with it. Instead of forcing the painting to be one thing, you let yourself just flow out and it became this.”

“But betrayal.” Nick raised his hand that was bound with Lucien’s, kissing the back of his lover’s hand. He let their hands drop back. “I don’t know why I would be thinking about that.” He turned to face Lucien and put his free hand on the other man’s shoulder and pulled, kissing Lucien’s lips. “I’d never think about betraying you.” He leaned back, showing Lucien his golden eyes and fangs, then leaned in to kiss Lucien’s neck under the laryngeal prominence.

“No, Nicholas, I know you wouldn’t.” He closed his eyes as the tips of Nicholas’ fangs scratched across his neck. “I think we have a little time before we have to take this painting to the gallery.” As an answer, Nicholas pushed him to the floor, both of them rumbling in anticipation.


	5. Chapter 5

The show opening was everything Ron hoped it would be. “I am so glad you were able to get that last painting done, Nick. It really is an incredible piece in the collection. Ties it all together.”

Nick smiled. “I am glad you like it. I was going for -”

“What I mean is that it will sell for a high price,” Ron interrupted.

Lucien appeared next to Nicholas. “And it should. I love that painting. Have any offers come in yet? I might want it for myself.”

Ron laughed. “Don’t worry, Mr. LaCroix. If there are no offers I will definitely make good on your proposal. Now if you will excuse me, I need to mingle. And so should you, Nick. Enjoy yourself; the collection is the best you have made so far. I am looking forward to your next endeavor.” Ron slapped Nick on the shoulder, then walked off.

Lucien looked down on Nicholas. “He’s right. Go mix and interact with these mortals. Practice convincing them to purchase something.”

“I don’t think that would be fair.”

Lucien shrugged. “Use your natural charm, Nicholas. What did you think I meant?”

Nick touched Lucien’s hand, squeezed it gently, then went off to talk to a couple in front of his purple canvas denoting the struggle between mystery and knowledge.

Janette, from the back of the room, watched Nicolas moving through the crowd. She hadn’t gone back to see him after her first visit. LaCroix, protective as always, had never left his side. He seemed happy, smiling at the people, gesturing animatedly in front of the paintings when an individual showed even the slightest interest. She ambled slowly to get closer to him.

“Not a step closer.”

Janette felt a cold hand grip her upper arm, halting her progress. “I want to see him.” The grip tightened.

LaCroix dropped the volume of his voice. “I won’t allow that.”

“Let him decide.” She turned to face her maker.

“He doesn’t remember you. He doesn’t remember anything from that night. There is nothing for him to decide.”

She let out a quiet hiss.

“It is too crowded here for the conversation we need to have. Come with me.”

“Where?”

“The back hall which leads to the loading dock. Beyond these doors. Come along.” He let her go and walked to the indicted space, knowing she would follow. She knew the consequence of not precisely following his orders. Once they were both in the back hallway and he made sure they were alone, he closed the doors. Looking through the glass inserts in the door, he confirmed that he could still see Nicholas, and that everything was fine with him. “I see you have worked on your mental shielding. I did not even know you were in town. Does anyone else know you are here?”

“No, only Nicolas was aware.”

“Good.”

“What have you done -”

LaCroix seized Janette’s neck, squeezed, and then slammed her into the concrete wall. “Just what did you think you were doing entering my home uninvited and confronting my Nicholas? You know when I am around you make contact with me first.” He let her drop to the floor. “Have you forgotten your lessons?”

Janette gasped and rubbed her healing neck. “No. But at least I still remember. Nicolas remembers nothing.” She stood up. “Tired of Nicolas running away from you, you have decided on a more aggressive, perverse way to bind him to your side?”

LaCroix let out a snarl. “You overstep yourself, Janette. You know the consequences for such an action. You are my favorite daughter, but that behavior will not be tolerated.”

Janette backed away. She could feel how serious he was about this. “This is cruel to him. This lie.”

“You jeopardize what I am trying to do here. You confused him and frightened him. That was crueler. Due to your meddling, he fought me and staked me. I do not appreciate that.”

“Maybe you deserved it. I should inform the Council of what you are doing. They will not look kindly on such abuse of a vampire, your offspring or not. Nor would the rest of the Community. This has gone too far.”

LaCroix let out a long breath. Of course Janette would always try to help Nicholas. “The Council is aware of this. They granted their permission.”

Janette was stunned. “No, not for something like this. They cannot know all of what you are doing, how you have destroyed Nicolas.”

LaCroix glanced back through the glass to make sure Nicholas was still alright. Ron was talking with him. LaCroix turned back to Janette. “Not that I need permission when dealing with my children, but do you think I would attempt something as drastic as this without some approval? This was to save his life.”

“You took away his life!”

“Not me.”

“Then whom?”

“The Enforcers.”

Janette was silent as she contemplated this. If Enforcers were involved, this was more dangerous, for everyone. She came closer. “Tell me.”

“The less number of people who know this, the better. I have permission to guard Nicholas, I don’t have the same for you.” He ran his hand through her hair. “I could not abide losing you to them.”

“I will find out.” She put her hands over his. “What happened? Why did the Enforcers want this for Nicolas?”

LaCroix growled and dropped his hands to his side. She would pester Nicholas again, would make contact any number of ways, and he could not afford to constantly keep repairing the damage. “You run the risk that they will come after you; they will attempt to kill you if they even think you know about this.”

“I will take that risk.”

“I could order you away, for your protection.”

“I’ve learned from Nicolas to not always follow orders.”

LaCroix closed his eyes. If Janette found him, it would not take long for others who were fond of Nicholas, like Natalie, to find him as well. Moving Nicholas around repetitively was out of the question. He could justify Janette’s knowledge as a form of damage containment; she could stop others from looking. LaCroix opened his eyes. “Nicholas spent too much time in the mortal world. He was observed by mortals too many times, and was considered high risk for being identified in the future as being a vampire. Without my knowledge the Council decided that a more, aggressive, approach should be tried. They dreaded the vengeance I would extract from all of them if they killed him. So instead, Enforcers were sent to contain and modify Nicholas. A new technique was in the Enforcer’s arsenal; it would have permanently removed the risk he presented, if it worked. The Council wished for Nicholas to be one of their first real tests.”

Janette held her hand to her mouth, to stifle the cry. “His abduction. It was them.”

LaCroix nodded. “They wounded him, weakened him so he was barely alive. That’s why we could not feel him, could not find him. The Enforcers took Nicholas away as far as they could. They feared what I would do if I caught them before they were done.” LaCroix’s eye blazed red. “They tried to ‘correct’ him.”

“Tried?”

“Evidentially, Nicholas is stronger than anyone thought, and he was furious. They were attempting to modify his memories and behaviors, trying to destroy his desire to be mortal, removing his compulsion to be so involved with mortals. I believe the phrase was ‘removing all useless hopes and dreams.’ They were attempting to turn him into their idea of an ideal vampire. Naturally, he fought back.”

Janette snarled. “Of course he would.”

“Something went wrong with the process. Nicholas . . . fragmented. They were going to kill him when I finally found them. I couldn’t let him die. I find I cannot live without him. I lost Fleur; I will not lose him too.” LaCroix wiped a single tear off his cheek. “They agreed that as long as I kept him near me and controlled, they would not kill him. Left on his own with a broken mind he would become deranged; Nicholas would be an insane, uncontrollable vampire who would kill indiscriminately and without restraint. They would have to kill him to protect all of us.”

“Their experiment failed.”

“Yes. Nicholas’ memories were a mess. As I had the strongest mental connection with him, I was the only one who could try and mend him. The best that could be done was to build a barrier around all the pieces and start over. He was too weak to resist anything I did, his mind as malleable as a mortal’s. I salvaged as much of him as I could and created a new life for him.”

“This life. What about the alley Nicolas described? He is terrified of that place. Is that where you had found him?”

LaCroix shook his head. “When altering the mind, you make suggestions and let the mind itself create what is needed. I learned later that the barriers I set up were manifested by Nicholas to be brick walls. The alley he thought he was in was really all in his mind. Nicholas himself was still damaged, his thought processes so chaotic. I created the story of an abandoned fledgling rejected by his maker to explain everything. He couldn’t know I was his maker, nothing that could tie into his old memories could be used. He is always at risk of breaking apart. I can be around him because I am the one creating it all, but you aren’t, which is why you have to leave. Every time there is a breach, a memory that surfaces, the Enforcers come to make sure Nicholas is still contained. One came the night you visited. I lost control of Nicholas, and he could have been killed. I will not let that happen again.”

Janette nodded. It was clear LaCroix would do anything to save Nicholas. And her presence was jeopardizing that. “How long will you maintain this? How long can this really go on?”

“I am slowly reinforcing his new life and building a stronger barrier. This is delicate, slow work that will take decades. By the time it is complete, any mortal he knew will be dead, so will not be able to accidentally raise a memory fragment that could crack through. When Nicholas is stable enough, then you can come and enter his life as a new friend. He will find you captivating and fascinating; I will make sure of that.”

“What of his original memories?”

“They will fade away, safely contained behind the barrier. Nicholas will not even know they are missing. They are too damaged anyway.”

“Is it worth all of this? If he ever finds out again . . .”

“You love Nicholas; you even have to ask that question?”

The door behind LaCroix opened. “Oh, there you are. Nick is looking for you.”

LaCroix turned around. “Ron. You have found me. Please, let Nicholas know I will be with him directly.”

“And how may I help this beautiful woman?”

LaCroix had Ron make eye contact with him while he concentrated on the heartbeat. In a deep voice he said, “There is no woman here, Ron. Only you and me.”

“Of course, no woman. I’ll go deliver your message to Nick.” Ron turned and left through the doors.

LaCroix felt a familiar vibration, the one he had experienced a few nights ago. He turned back to Janette. “You have to leave, now. Let the others know that Nicholas died after his abduction so no one will come looking for him.” He saw her shocked expression. “I will not tolerate anyone meddling with Nicholas. Don’t let anyone know I told you all this. The Enforcers and the Council do not want it known that they are experimenting on vampires, and failing.” He hugged her. “We will see you again. It really isn’t that much time. What is a decade, or a century, to us, after all?” LaCroix let her go. “Leave by the loading dock.”

Janette embraced LaCroix one final time. “Thank you for at least saving him.”

“I just wish it did not have to be this way.”

LaCroix watched Janette slip out the loading dock, then returned to the gallery to find Nicholas. Ron and another person were talking with Nicholas in front of the black and yellow betrayal painting. Lucien stopped behind Nicholas, placing his right hand possessively on Nicholas’ left shoulder.

Nick turned his head, smiling when he recognized it was Lucien. “There you are. You might miss getting this painting. Another man is interested in it.”

Lucien looked at the other man, recognizing the pulsation emanating from him. A high-ranking Enforcer; the one he had sensed before. Lucien was glad for once that Nicholas was usually so unaware of the danger of his surroundings that he was missing the fact that this was a threatening vampire. “So you are interested in art?”

The stranger responded. “I am very interested in this painting. It is so expressive, so raw. I observe it and the artist Nick and I immediately see how one comes from the other. You can feel the passion in the work.” He looked directly at LaCroix. “I wonder where the inspiration came from.”

Lucien was ridged. “The Muses have always inspired art. Perhaps Nicholas was moved by Erato.”

“Perhaps. Though I was thinking this was more in the realm of Melpomene.”

“I hardly think this is a work of tragedy,” Lucien replied. “This whole collection speaks of finding a stable balance.”

Nick was critically watching the exchange between the stranger and Lucien. He was sure they knew each other, from the way they were behaving. Nick understood that Lucien had a life before him, but he never asked about it. Perhaps they needed some time alone to deal with whatever undercurrent was going on. “Ron, a woman was interested in one of the smaller paintings. Why don’t you and I go help her make it part of her personal collection.”

Ron welcomed a way to get away from this exchange. “Yes, Nick, let’s go help her.” As he and Nick went over to the woman Nick had indicated he said, “I’m actually a little relieved to get away from that man. I have a bad feeling about him.”

Lucien waited until Ron and Nicholas were busy before addressing the Enforcer again. “What is the meaning of socializing with Nicholas? Do you want to trigger him?”

“I was simply checking to see how he was doing. If your care of him was adequate.”

“I am fulfilling my obligation. He is still contained. There is no reason for you to be here.”

“Really? Well, we like to keep tabs on-”

“Your mistakes,” Lucien interrupted.

The stranger hissed. “You have been presented with a wonderful opportunity, LaCroix; a fresh start with your offspring. Don’t waste it. Just make sure to raise him so he turns out better than last time.”

“I think you need to leave now.”

“Until next time.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

“For everyone’s sake, I hope not.” He turned and was gone.

Lucien went back to Nicholas, where he belonged. “Unfortunately, he was not interested in purchasing the work after all.”

“That’s a real shame,” Ron replied.

“I don’t know,” said Nick. “I’m kind of glad he didn’t want it. You really seem to like it, Lucien. Maybe it is better the painting stay with you.”

Lucien wrapped his arms around Nicholas, hugging him. Whispering so only Nicholas could hear, “I would rather you stay with me.”

As time advanced, people slowly left and the show opening was over. The paintings were still on the wall and would remain until the exhibit was over, then the canvases would be sent to those who had purchased them. Ron had gone back to his office to collect something, so he and Nicholas were alone among the art. Lucien watched Nicholas go from painting to painting, looking at each as if it was the last time he would see them. Nicholas always did this after each show, so the behavior did not worry him too much. But he always wondered exactly what Nicholas was thinking when he did that. He waited. Finally, Nicholas came to him.

“Lucien, I was thinking.”

“Of what?”

“That last painting. It might not be betrayal.”

“Really?”

“What if it was upside-down? The other way it might have a different meaning.”

“What meaning would that be, Nicholas?”

“I was thinking it might be hope. Hope for better times when conflict is resolved and a better balance is achieved.”

Lucien smiled. “Hope. I like that.”

 

_Can something broken ever really be put back together? It will never be exactly what it once was. When fixed, is it at least similar, or is it now something else entirely? Do you still even want it? Is there any point in remembering what it once was? It might be better to let the memory fade away._

_Did something that needed to be retained manage to escape through the break? We could always ask Pandora, who broke the seal on her jar of evils, how well that turned out. But there is always hope: the dream that the broken thing will be mended.  But hope can be dangerous. I recall that it was in the jar, after all._


End file.
